“And if I should tell you what a horrible life I led with her! When I looked at her I would just as soon have killed her as kissed her. When I looked at her... I felt a furious desire to open my arms to embrace and strangle her. She had, back of her eyes, something false and intangible that made me execrate her; and that was, perhaps, the reason I loved her so well. The eternal feminine, the odious and seductive feminine, was stronger in her than in any other woman. She was full of it, overcharged, as with a venomous and intoxicating fluid. She was a woman to a greater extent than any one has ever been.” “And when I went out with her she would look at all men in such a manner that she seemed to offer herself to each in a single glance. This exasperated me, and still it attached me to her all the more. This creature in just walking along the street belonged to everyone, in spite of me, in spite of herself, by the very fact of her nature, although she had a modest, gentle carriage. Do you understand? “And what torture! At the theatre, at the restaurant she seemed to belong to others under my very eyes. And as soon as I left her she did belong to others. “It is now ten years since I saw her and I love her better than ever.” Night spread over the earth. A strong perfume of orange blossoms pervaded the air. I said: “Will you see her again?” “Parbleu! I now have here, in land and money, seven to eight thousand francs. When I reach a million I shall sell out and go away. I shall have enough to live on with her for a year--one whole year. And then, good-bye, my life will be finished.” “But after that?” I asked. “After that, I do not know. That will be all, I may possibly ask her to take me as a valet de chambre.” YVETTE SAMORIS “The Comtesse Samoris.” “That lady in black over there?” “The very one. She's wearing mourning for her daughter, whom she killed.” “You don't mean that seriously? How did she die?” “Oh! it is a very simple story, without any crime in it, any violence.” “Then what really happened?” “Almost nothing. Many courtesans are born to be virtuous women, they say; and many women called virtuous are born to be courtesans--is that not so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had a daughter born a virtuous woman, that's all.” “I don't quite understand you.” “I'll--explain what I mean. The comtesse is nothing but a common, ordinary parvenue originating no one knows where. A Hungarian or Wallachian countess or I know not what. She appeared one winter in apartments she had taken in the Champs Elysees, that quarter for adventurers and adventuresses, and opened her drawing-room to the first comer or to any one that turned up.